


“Culture” Shock

by brovary



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Dimiclaude Birthday Week (Fire Emblem), Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-21
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:35:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,891
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26021269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brovary/pseuds/brovary
Summary: After so long of adjusting to life in Fódlan, Khalid thought that he was more or less used to pretty much everything there is to be used to. Aside from the climate of Faerghus’ most northern reaches, that is. However, he has once again found himself in a situation where there’s something he hasn’t yet had the “joy” of experiencing. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised that it’s somewhat related to that one other thing he’s not accustomed to. Either way, having a certain someone there to help him through it makes the whole thing a little easier than it otherwise could be.For day 5 of the DimiClaude birthday week.
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/Claude von Riegan
Comments: 4
Kudos: 67





	“Culture” Shock

**Author's Note:**

> I was hoping to be more active in this event, but my brain has kinda been flatlining. ;A; However! I can never resist a little hurt/comfort (especially hurt/comfort of this kind), and day 5 seemed like a perfect time for it. That said, there’s a huge focus on the comfort portion of the day’s prompt, but it could probably also fall into day 2’s cold/warmth/Faerghus prompt.

Khalid wakes to feeling like shit. His chest hurts; his throat hurts; his  _ whole body _ hurts. Some part of him knows he’s running a fever—he can feel its heat burning behind his eyes—but his body is wracked with chills, and he finds that the cold sensation is far more uncomfortable than the furnace raging inside of him. 

These are far from unfamiliar sensations, unfortunately. Khalid was always somewhat more prone to getting sick than others, which he can thank his vengeful eldest half-brothers for, and he’s had far too much experience with being poisoned. One would hope that after years and years, he would be less miserable when he ends up unwell for one reason or another. Of course, that’s never been the case before, and it isn’t the case now.  _ Lucky him. _

He draws the covers up to his nose with a shuddering whimper, opening his eyes just a crack. Khalid is in his and Dimitri’s bed in Fhirdiad. Whoever laid him there (probably Dimitri, himself) has put in great effort to try and make him comfortable. Which can only do so much when whatever’s ailing him is doing its damnedest to make him feel like death warmed over, but the effort is appreciated. Plush pillows are supporting his head, furs and quilts all but swallowing him. A cold towel had been settled against his forehead to try and calm the fire raging in his skull, but it fell away as he situated himself. The bed’s canopy has been pulled back, allowing Khalid to see and feel a fire burning hot in the master bedroom’s hearth. 

For better or for worse, Khalid has always been something of a cold-blooded animal, much like the wyverns he’s raised and ridden all his life. The way that he’s quick to shiver and whine to Dimitri when it’s colder than he’d like it to be is proof enough of his cold intolerance. How he behaves when he’s sick is just an extension of that. It isn’t a choice to throw the fact that he’s running a temperature much too high out of the window, but rather an instinctual response. While he likely ought to be focusing on  _ cooling down _ instead of  _ warming up _ , his foggy mind which is usually so good at applying logic won’t apply that logic to the situation right now. 

His aching body protests against moving, but Khalid slowly moves to sit, clutching a couple of the blankets close to him as cold air finds its way beneath them. It causes his skin to break out in goosebumps and seemingly every inch of him to shudder. Clenching his jaw is all he can do to keep his teeth from chattering. He takes a moment to let the worst of it pass before standing. Khalid finds that his legs are poorly equipped to hold him up, sore and lacking energy. Walking is even more difficult thanks to weakness coupled with his feeling so badly chilled. Khalid is just grateful to be wearing thick socks that keep out the worst of the icy cold that’s settled into the dark stone of the floor as he shuffles along it. 

Once closer to the fire, Khalid all but collapses on the floor, curling in on himself as his lungs convulse from the fall knocking the wind out of him. Coughing is horrifically painful, ravaging his throat and working already tired, pained muscles. But he can’t stop the reflex. All Khalid can do is wait for the fit to pass and struggle to catch his breath, weakly readjusting the blankets to cover his body, feverish and frigid all at once. 

What in the  _ gods’ names _ is  _ wrong with him _ …? His mind is too addled to piece together any sort of solid timeline in regards as to how he got here. It’s all hazy memories in no specific order. The streets of Fhirdiad. The feeling of his hair being stroked. A carriage ride. Some sort of meeting. Dimitri’s voice. Being held. None of it makes any particular sense, Khalid’s usually bitingly sharp brain dulled in his sorry state. And to some extent, he doesn’t even really  _ care  _ what happened. He just cares about the fact that he feels almost unbelievably ill. 

Exhausted from fighting whatever the hell this thing is, Khalid quickly begins to slip out of consciousness again. Before darkness takes him under, he hears a familiar voice speaking to him. The words are unclear, and he doesn’t look up to see who’s there, but he knows their identity perfectly well. A large and calloused hand brushes hair out of Khalid’s face, and he weakly leans into the touch. 

He falls asleep to the sound of Dimitri’s soothing voice, which doesn’t get rid of the sickness tearing its way through him…but somehow his presence makes it seem a little less horrible. 

* * *

When Khalid comes back around, he isn’t feeling any better than before. He’s back in bed with the heavy covers, feeling like he was run over by a horse; like he’s bruised all over. Something cold is being gently pressed to his forehead and temples. The part of him that’s still chilled and shivery to work up a fever dislikes that, but the part of him that’s burning up leans into the touch. 

When his eyes flutter open, he’s greeted with a beautiful blue gaze, blond hair, and a gentle smile. The owner of the voice he’d drifted off listening to before. “There you are…. Good morning, beloved.” Dimitri’s voice is soft; quiet and comforting in the midst of his suffering. When Khalid tries to speak, his chest tightens in protest, leaving him coughing and gasping for air. All the while, Dimitri tries his best to soothe him, whispering sweet nothings and petting his hair. 

He presses a kiss to Khalid’s fiery hot forehead when the worst of it is over. “Don’t push yourself, darling,” he says. “You’re not well.” If Khalid was more coherent, he might have sarcastically said something about how  _ he never would have guessed _ . Instead, he allows Dimitri to sit him up, bundling him against his chest to try and ease his persistent chills before carefully pressing a cup of hot tea into Khalid’s hands. 

Dimitri helps him drink, keeping a hand on the teacup both to keep Khalid’s shaky grip from spilling the drink and to pace him. Drinking too much or too quickly could just make him even more sick and dehydrated. The warm drink is like heaven against Khalid’s pained throat. It doesn’t taste all that good, but Khalid’s congestion actually serves a purpose in that moment, keeping him from experiencing the worst of that. Not that he’s a man who shys away from vile-tasting things if they’re necessary.

Dimitri takes the cup from Khalid’s hands once he’s finished and sets it aside to hold him better. His warmth is soothing, and his strong, sturdy body almost seems to absorb some of his shivering, making it a little more bearable. Khalid tries to speak again, more careful this time. “Dima,” he says, voice badly rasped and shaky, “what’s—?”

“It’s something you’ve never been exposed to before,” Dimitri says, answering the question before Khalid can continue and possibly launch into another fit of coughing. “Typically it’s something we only see in children. But since you didn’t come in contact with it when you were young like many Faerghan children do…well, you’re unfortunately having to experience it as an adult.”

What sensibility Khalid’s delirious mind has left is able to process the information given to him relatively well.  _ That explains _ why he’s doing so poorly. Fódlan is a large continent, with plenty of diseases being endemic to certain areas. He was inoculated with most of the ills native to the Alliance thanks to it sharing a border with Almyra, as well as the fact that plenty of illegal trade took place between those two places via air and sea. But like Dimitri said, while it’s not Khalid’s first time in Faerghus, he’s never spent so much time in the crowded city of Fhirdiad during the most frigid months of the year where illness spreads most easily.

“A doctor checked in on you while you were asleep,” he continues, rubbing Khalid’s arm. “It’s unpleasant, but they said you’ll be feeling much better within a week or two so long as you get plenty of rest. And the tea you just had is a blend they left that ought to ease some of your symptoms.”

Khalid nods groggily to confirm that he heard and understood what Dimitri’s told him before his body is gripped by a particularly fierce chill, rattling him to the core. Dimitri whispers sweet nothings to him, making sure that Khalid is wrapped up warmly to try and ease the cold feeling that he can’t quite seem to rid himself of. He leans in to press more kisses to Khalid’s face, but he raises a hand to stop Dimitri after one or two. “D-don’t want you get…g-getting sick,” he manages, shivers and all. 

Dimitri takes Khalid’s hand and continues to kiss him. “No need to worry about that,” he says. “I had this when I was small, and I’ve never heard of someone coming down with it twice. It’s one of those things you become immune to once your body’s familiar with it.” And that’s about all the assurance Khalid needs to allow Dimitri to continue doting on him. 

After a time of Dimitri cradling Khalid in his arms, whatever herbs were in the tea he was given start working their magic. The deeply set cold feeling that he’d been struggling to rid himself of begins to subside, and Khalid finally starts to feel the burning heat of his fever. He squirms to free himself of the excess blankets, causing Dimitri to shift his focus to helping him out of a few layers and settling him back down against the pillows. He leaves one of the quilts so that Khalid doesn’t end up freezing all over again, and instead returns to dabbing his face with a cold towel to try and decrease the fever. 

“Thanks, Dima….” Khalid whispers. He still feels terrible, but compared to before, the lingering sick sensations are practically nothing. They’re bearable. He’s falling asleep anyway, which will allow him to escape some of the remaining symptoms. 

“Of course, beloved.” Settling the towel carefully across Khalid’s forehead, Dimitri leans in to press a kiss to each of his flushed cheeks. “I have to meet with some of the nobility to discuss providing that nearby town we visited the other day with supplies. Will you be alright? Do you need me to have someone fetch you anything?”

Khalid shakes his head, already half asleep. “I’m okay.”

Dimitri smiles and strokes Khalid’s hair as he drifts off. “Get some rest, my darling. I’ll be back as soon as I’m finished.” Khalid hums quietly, voice cracking as he does. “I love you.”

Green eyes, glossy from sick, open slightly to look at Dimitri, and Khalid smiles back at him, just wide enough to show off the little divots in his cheeks. “I love you, too….” Pressing one last kiss to Khalid’s lips, Dimitri picks himself up from the bed, adjusting the quilt over his lover’s body before he quietly walks out of the room. 


End file.
